Angel’s Forecast

by J. J. Massa

  Storm was a month shy of twenty-five years old and almost as tall as his father.

  His eyes were a shade lighter than Deke’s and his hair a shade darker. He was the typical, blue-eyed, black haired Acadian man. Only there wasn’t a typical thing about him.

  Deke had heard stories about how attractive Rayne’s father was. His own mother had been madly in love with Rayin Deveau. The man had broken hearts just by walking into a room.

  Storm had a lot in common with his grandfather, his special abilities strongest of their family. He could make the wind blow, not gentle breezes but strong, hurricane and tornado strength winds, bring storms when and where he wanted, levitate items, and when he was with his family, he could even make plants grow.

  Deke had often wondered what caused such things in these people he loved so much. He’d come to believe that perhaps some part of their brains had been “turned on” in a way that most people’s were not.

  The same thing must be true of Angel, he decided. She seemed to know just what to put in this mixture or that to create a spell. She knew things…she’d had that dream.

  That made him shiver.

  Pasting a heartfelt smile on his face, Deke got up and pulled his nephew into a hug. He didn’t have to pull that hard. Strom was hugging him tight, with all of his youthful exuberance.

  “Oncle Dekon, I damn sure been worried about you. I’m so happy, happy to see you up, see you moving, see you…” Storm stopped talking, tilted his head, held his uncle away with both hands and then turned to look at Angel. With a smirking grin, he turned to support Deke with one arm behind his back. “Welcome to the family, Sugar Angel,” he grinned.

  Remy arched a brow at him and Angel blushed. “What you talkin’ ‘bout, boy?”

  Deke demanded, though he had a sinking suspicion he knew.

  Storm laughed and hugged him a second time, turning to Angel for a hug. “We goanna have a double weddin’ round here?” he asked, beaming at the group.

  “There’s just no tellin’,” Angel hugged him back, and then pushed him away.

  “We’ll let you know as soon as we do, and not a second sooner!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Deke had enjoyed the day, couldn’t remember when last he’d had such a pleasant time. Storm had been as witty, as gently sarcastic as ever. Remy, every bit the proud papa, volleyed his verbal thrusts and parries with relish.

  Angel had come and gone, happily providing lunch, affectionately touching, even kissing Deke when the mood struck her. The way they’d been that morning, so close, closer than he’d ever been with anyone—his heart was full.

  In quiet conversation with Remy, when Storm had excused himself to go flirt with Angel, his blue eyes glinting wickedly, Deke had asked about the men who’d skipped bail, who’d possibly been following them the previous day. The truck had been reported stolen, and when the rental car company took receipt of their silver Ford Taurus from Mr.

  Carrier, they had dutifully reported the tag theft.

  None of that information surprised either brother, but it was frustrating. “We have ever’body in three counties looking for ‘em,” Remy had growled, “Hell, even Rayne’s mamere is trolling for ‘em, with her witchy ways.”

  “Nothin’, huh?” Deke had asked, disappointed.

  “Nope, nothin’…” Remy had responded. “We thought we had a report over in Xavier Parish, but it was a false alarm.”

  Deke had considered mentioning Angel’s own brand of protection, but didn’t. He knew his brother wouldn’t have anything negative to say—how could he? Still, Deke decided that it was between the two of them, nobody else.

  The woman in question had gone upstairs to lie down, whispering in his ear that the unusual activity of looking after him was taking its toll. He’d laughed and probably blushed, but he couldn’t’ deny being a little concerned. After all, she’d been a virgin just as recently as that very morning. For all he knew, it could be harmful… He laughed at himself. Now he was just getting ridiculous.

  He rose from the table where he’d spent most of the afternoon and the better part of the morning. It was in the upper seventies, very temperate, comfortable. Dragonflies were flitting around near the top of the garden, or the bottom, if you considered that the land slanted down to the bayou.

  The birds were strangely silent, save for a burst of dove, back by a stand of cypress trees. Deke turned that way, slowly making his way for the edge of the yard, and consequently the edge of the bayou.

  He thought he saw something odd reflecting off of the water, but he just couldn’t be sure. Deke moved around one of the trees and his crutch slipped, sending him sprawling backward.

  He mentally braced himself. He wasn’t sure which would hurt worse—the impact to his healing injury or Angel’s ire when she saw what he’d done in his foolishness.

  ———

  Angel yawned and stretched. She’d been sleeping so deeply. Something had teased her from her sleep—some nagging thought. Was it that dream? And where was Deke?

  She moved to the window and looked out, a feeling of déjà vu.

  Suddenly it came to her. Maybe her dream was a forecast, but there was a reason.

  Something bad was going to happen if she didn’t change things right away. She’d forgotten something!

  Angel turned from the window and rushed down the stairs chanting as she went.

  She’d left an opening for intruders. She’d cast a spell restricting anyone from putting foot on her land with the intention of harming. But the bayou was wide open. It wasn’t land and anyone who wanted could aim a gun and shoot, doing as much damage as they pleased.

  She rushed to her pantry, chanting and murmuring, frantic to change the spell, to prevent anyone from doing harm to them from the bayou side of the property.

  Unfortunately, the way she’d set things up, she’d have to lift the spell on the front side of the yard, the driveway, even the doors. But Deke was outside, in the back. He would be safe.

  She’d lifted the safety spell before she realized her mistake…Deke wasn’t safe until she cast a safety spell on the bayou. She was too far away for that. The last she’d seen of him, he was actually at the very edge of the water.

  Angel whirled when she heard something shatter outside. She’d removed the protective wards on her home, left Deke out there by himself, and now the bad guys were on there way in. She needed help in the worst way.

  “Don’t worry, child, you’re not alone,” came a voice in her mind. The very welcome voice of Rayne Deveau. “We’ve all forgotten just one little detail when under pressure.”

  Angel was frantic. What were they doing to Deke? Would he be injured, killed for her mistake?

  “Little Dekon is fine, mad as a wet hornet, worried for you, but safe enough,” cackled an older-sounding voice. That had to be Esmé Deveau. “Yes, child, it certainly is me,” the old woman sounded smug. “And you need not worry. You got him wrapped up in a bubble of protection that’s truly got him mad. You cast the spell for safety from the water before you took down the safety from the land spell,” she chortled happily. “I love it when big, strong men get a taste of what a woman can do.”

  “You best stop that, Grand-mère,” scolded Rayne. “Deke needs to be…”

  “I know you’re in there,” said a hateful, deep voice from beyond the pantry door.

  “You either come out, or we’ll come in and get you.”

  It didn’t make Angel happy, but she was slightly heartened. The mental conversation had strengthened her, made her feel less alone, more apart of something larger—a family.

  This new development, the hard voice of this stranger in her home, while alarming, was also reassuring to her. There had been no voice like this in her dream.

  She’d been hiding, had been certain Deke was injured. This time she wasn’t hiding, whatever the intruder thought.

  Angel left the pantry, making sure to grab a well-used container first.

  Chapter Thir
teen

  At first, Deke was amazed, then impressed, but now, he was hopping mad. It had been highly entertaining to watch the three men in the pirogue try to pull their craft to the shore, only to find themselves sinking in the bayou mud on the far side of it.

  It had been astonishing, amazing, to see a man pull his gun, aim from a scant six feet away, pull the trigger, only to have limbs behind him whirl into the murky water, as if he’d been performing a trick.

  The part that made him angry, furious, scared him to death, came when he’d tried to go back to the house and couldn’t. Couldn’t do more than turn in circles while he watched men rush into the house, overturn the table on the porch, and sprint inside.

  Watch, that’s all he could do. Just watch.

  “ANGEL!” he bellowed. Nothing. “Rayne!” he tried. Someone had to hear him.

  “GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! Someone!” he roared, so angry and frantic that he could actually see red dotting his vision.

  A bolt of lightning struck the ground between himself and the fast-retreating flatboat. Deke lay where he’d landed, his back taking the impact of this second tumble, one of his crutches jarred too far out of reach. He couldn’t have moved right then anyway.

  Storm walked over to his uncle, hand outstretched. “I ain’t Him, nor my mama, neither, but I bet I’ll do this time around, huh?”

  Deke opened his mouth to speak, emitting little more than a weak croak. He cleared his throat and tried again, “How’d you… Ah—I didn’t know you could do that,” he finally managed.

  “Shh,” Storm winked, helping his uncle up. “Don’t tell. All the women be after me to do it over and over again. I hardly get any peace as it is,” he complained smugly.

  Storm turned toward the bayou and looked at the two men and the departing boat.

  The trees began to whip and lightning split a knobby pine so that it creaked and broke, smoke spiraling from the rent trunk as the upper half splashed in front of the boat, blocking its escape. Debris had effectively caged the men, one of whom threw his hands up in the air, dropping his pirogue pole.

  Deke scooped up his gun which had fallen from the back of his pants when he’d slipped the first time. He was reluctant to use his crutches, though he was a bit sore. He decided he would, at least on his right side. He could shoot with his left hand if need be.

  He began looking around for his gun when it floated in front of his face. He grabbed it, glancing at his nephew.

  Storm arched a wicked black brow at him and turned, ignoring Deke’s muttered curse as he snatched the gun out of the air.

  “We’ve got to get in there and see if Angel’s all right,” Deke urged. “If she is, I swear I’ll turn her over my knee for doing this to me.”

  “You’re sex life is none of my concern, Oncle Deke,” Storm observed dryly, walking around the perimeter of the yard, his hand held out, as if he could feel something. “She’s strong…got it going on,” he murmured. “Lessee if I can undo this here thing.”

  Storm’s muttering and the sound of shattering glass from the house didn’t make Deke feel any better at all. “You’re not funny, you know that?”

  “Maybe not. She’s got us pretty well stuck out here, but not quite,” Storm mumbled. “You wanna go for a ride, Oncle Deke?” he grinned, looking so much like the naughty little boy that he had been for so many years that it made Deke’s heart ache for a moment.

  A flash of green light and an angry male voice jerked him back to the present instantly. “What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout, boy?” Deke rumbled, fear making him sound even more harsh and angry.

  Storm grinned, wrapped both arms around Deke and yelled, “Look out Angel! There’s a storm coming your way!”

  Heavy winds whipped around them and Deke felt a low electric current buzz through him, making his hair stand on end, making his skin itch, making the plate in his pelvis vibrate mildly. Very mildly, he hoped.

  ———

  “Laisse-moi tranquille!” Angel yelled at her large, muscle-bound attacker, lobbing a second, spell-packed bomb at the offensive man. “Leave me alone!” she clarified, just in case there was any doubt about what she was saying.

  This one was a little stronger than the last. It knocked him off of his feet, turning the air in the room to a hazy bluish-green. She was quite satisfied to see the three men huddling in a corner of the room, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. If they were afraid of her…

  The thought was cut off abruptly when strong arms grabbed her from behind, rough hands hurting her, no doubt leaving bruises.

  “You may be some kind of voodoo witch,” growled a deep, heavily accented voice in her ear, “I don’t fuckin’ care. I got nuttin’ to lose.”

  Angel felt an adrenaline-packed surge of fear shoot through her, closing her mouth with a snap. She was afraid to move, the large, painful fingers of her attacker’s right hand moved up to her throat, squeezing slightly.

  “Uh,” Angel wheezed, “What do you want?” she coughed.

  “I want the guy, that’s all. Not the one that left, the one that stayed. You tell me where he is—we’re all good here, capice?”

  “What…um,” she stalled, “What means that?”

  “Don’t try that shit wit me, woman!” he threatened low, squeezing her throat, running his fingers through his dark pompadour. That must be a nervous habit. He obviously hadn’t slept for days either, as evidenced by his five-o’clock-shadow. “You know where he is, now you call him, you hear me?” She might be able to pick him out of a line-up, but if she didn’t do something quick, she’d never make it to said line-up. For that matter, neither would he…

  “Madame! Rayne!” Angel called out in her mind. Even if she wanted to release Deke, she couldn’t right now—not in her current situation.

  “Hold on,” Rayne’s comforting voice reassured her.

  Suddenly, Rayne heard the sound of rolling thunder, followed but the earthshaking smack of lightning hitting the ground. Storm!

  “I can’t call him if you’re strangling me,” Angel rasped, overdoing it only a little.

  His hand at her throat was painful, hurting, and if she wasn’t careful, he would cause damage. “My throat hurts,” she laid it on a little bit thicker.

  “What’s that noise?” The man sounded nervous now. He glanced toward the windows and toward his cowering friends as the air popped and sizzled.

  “It’s a petit tempête,” Angel explained.

  “What the fuck is that?” the man sneered, his accent heavy and northeastern, like he had a mouth full of every word.

  “That’s just a little storm,” she smiled, enjoying the way the hostile stranger’s eyes widened at her words and attitude.

  Suddenly, electricity surged in the air, the windows seeming to expand and contract, as if the room was taking a deep breath, before they imploded, showering the kitchen with glass. Angel had managed to dive behind the door to the pantry, therefore avoiding serious injury. Unfortunately, her attacker had followed suit, landing almost on top of her.

  “Didn’t I told you to stop callin’ me dat?” Storm grumbled good-naturedly, steadying Deke on his feet before turning to consider the three cowering, would-be bad guys in the corner. “What a sorry de'pouille we got right here,” Storm declared, taking a menacing step forward, laughing deeply when the three men shrunk deeper into their inefficient hiding place.

  “You killed my cousin, you sorry son of a bitch,” the remaining man accused, undaunted by Storm and Deke’s entrance, he stumbled to his feet, jerking a piece of glass from his calf as he rose, pulling Angel against his chest.

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” Deke spat. “But I woulda, if I’d been thinking about it…”

  “Uh, Deke, do you mind?” Angel huffed, struggling against her captor, freezing when the glass bit into her neck a little.

  Storm raised a hand over Deke’s shoulder, but Deke bumped him away. “I’m jus’ goanna shoot him,” Deke snapped, threatening the man holding Angel. �
��You can just keep your thunderbolts in your pocket for now.”

  “Oncle Deke, it’s safer if I…” Storm began to object, only to be cut off.

  “There’ll be less questions if I just go ahead and shoot him,” Deke pointed out somewhat reasonably, raising his gun. Angel was more than a little concerned at the convoluted logic. She apparently wasn’t the only person there who was.

  “You guys are just…nuts,” the man with his arm around Angel announced, “But I still don’t give a shit. I’m not going to jail. Shoot me. I’m taking her with me.”

  “That’s it,” Angel barked. “I’ve had it!” She elbowed the big man in the stomach while stepping down hard on the top of his foot, bringing him to his knees. Whirling on him, she decided, “I’m just going to turn him into a rat and be done with it.”

  “Now, dat’s what I’m talking about!” Storm crowed, rubbing his hands together.

  “What I gotta do? I wanna help!”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t do that!” Deke protested.

  “Couldn’t do what?” Angel asked, confused.

  The angry man erupted off the floor, to launch himself at Angel. Deke’s shot felled him in mid-air, throwing him backward against the painted oak door of the pantry. He landed with a wood-cracking thud, although perhaps Deke’s bullet had been what caused the oak to splinter.

  The man would live. He was injured, but not nearly critically. The bullet damaged his shoulder. He’d need surgery, that was all.

  She’d thought to scare him, but now Deke had shot the man. He would have killed her, though, she knew. He’d proclaimed several times that he had nothing to lose.

  She considered that as the man slid down the polished door to land in a moaning heap at its base.

  “Deke,” she murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Storm, you have to help Deke get those there guys put up, and be ready for your daddy. I think I hear a siren.”

  Deke looked hard at Angel, expecting more of a response from her than the one he got. Of course, his Angel was a nurse, a practical woman, no matter that she had to be stunned and shaken by all that had taken place today.